The Love of My Afterlife(78)

He puts down the turkey sandwich he is wrapping up in wax paper. “Jan Meyer? From the pharmacy?”

“The one and only,” I say.

Deli Dan bunches his mouth to the side. “Nice lady, Jan. Very nice lady. And she’ll be there?”

“Yes! She will one hundred percent be there.”

He nods, a small glint in his eye. “You got catering sorted?”

Catering? How had I not considered catering. Is catering even necessary, though?

“No,” I say. “The party will only be for a couple of hours.”

“You can’t not feed your guests, dear,” whispers an older woman in a headscarf behind me. “It would be terribly rude.”

“Oh,” I reply. “Right, yes.”

Deli Dan rolls his eyes good-humouredly. “I s’pose I could help you out. A few pies, sarnies, cakes.”

I nod. “How much would that cost?”

Deli Dan responds with a figure that seems in line with general West London prices, in that it is eye-wateringly expensive. I couldn’t afford it unless I dipped into my rainy-day savings. The money I’ve been putting away in case of some unknown emergency.

But if this isn’t a rainy-day emergency, then I don’t know what is. I could spend the whole lot of it. Fuck. It literally doesn’t matter. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.

“It’s a deal!” I say, taking my phone out of my bag, transferring my entire life savings into my current account, and handing my debit card to Deli Dan.

“Would you bring some of that cheese?” I ask before he swipes my card. I point at a big block of something extra smelly looking. “Actually, can you sort out booze too, please? Or do you know somewhere I can get it wholesale?”

Deli Dan nods. “How many guests you got coming?”

I grimace. “At the moment around six, including you. But I’m hoping it will be more like ten, fifteen max.”

“Yeah, that’s doable. I’ll sort you out, love. Beer? Wine? Champagne?”

“Champagne,” I say with a firm nod. Why not go all out? “Thank you so much!”

He shrugs. “Do what I can for the locals. And Jan will definitely be there?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Can you please hurry it along?” the woman behind me says. Another woman behind her discreetly reapplies her lipstick.

“Tyburnia Library music room,” I tell Deli Dan. “Two fifteen p.m. for a three p.m. start.”

I breeze past the queue of women and out onto the street, adrenaline pumping me all the way up.

I’m doing it! Me, Delphie Denise Bookham! I’m throwing a party!





39





It’s Sunday. I wake up with an immediate ache in my heart.

My last day on Earth.

Everything that’s happening and everything that might happen floods into my brain: asking questions, second-guessing, wondering about alternatives. I swipe it all away. Today is my last day on Earth before I return to Evermore, according to the rules of a deal I chose to make. I have made my decision. And part of the decision was to be at peace with it because the truth is—there is no alternative. It’s all way too overwhelming to fully contemplate, and I’m scared that if I really, truly think about it, I will crumble. And I have things to do today, so crumbling is not a possibility. I’m holding a party for Mr. Yoon. I can’t imagine a better way to spend this day.

I busy the morning away, writing out various bits and pieces of Mr. Yoon’s routine—his likes and dislikes that I know of and the exact way he likes his coffee—into a notebook I picked up from the stationer’s yesterday. I’ll leave this for Cooper, who will be able to hand it over to the council whenever they arrive for their assessment. Hopefully it won’t be too long now seeing as I’ve sent them around five emails expressing the importance of a speedy visit.

I get dressed into the pale green dress again because it was expensive as hell and because the way the dress made me feel the other day has solidified the notion that I should have been wearing lovely dresses every single day while I had the chance—what the hell was I waiting for? Even if I was just lounging around the house in them, it would have made me feel at least a percentage better. I add some sparkly little drop earrings I found in my mum’s bag of stuff and brush my hair until it shines and falls neatly over my shoulders. Then I go next door to collect the man of the hour.

Mr. Yoon is admiring himself in his bedroom mirror. I look on with approval at the sharp navy shirt and grey trousers he’s picked out for today. I ask if I can comb his hair at the back, to which he agrees. I stand next to him in the mirror and we smile at each other.

“We look good!” I say, posing with my hands on my hips.

He leans his shoulder into mine and gives me a thumbs-up.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I ask. “I’m not, like, an absolute tit for throwing you a party the day after you got out of hospital?”

He grabs his pencil and pad from the table.

    I’M DELIGHTED. MY FIRST PARTY IN THIRTY YEARS.



I think back to the photo of him collecting the award for playing the violin. How he reacted when I brought it up. I wonder once more what led him to hide away from the world. From people. What made him leave the things he loved behind? The last week seems to have brought us closer together. If I had more time, I think he might have opened up to me eventually. Perhaps, when I’m gone, he will open up to Cooper. Or one of the new friends I hope he makes at his meet-new-people party.